Rana - Cesta k Ruinám (2026)
By Flork
For a while now, Rana seems to have occupied a curious corner of the Bratislava underground. Formed in the spring of 2014 in a garage beneath the Prístavný most (Harbour bridge), the band began as an outlet for Andrej‘s overflow of ideas, which at that time didn’t quite fit his other projects. And so, while never being entirely fixed to one sound, the band is unmistakably shaped by a restless creative drive. Over time, however, there have been numerous shifts in the lineup. Yet after years of relative silence, the arrival of Cesta k Ruinám marks both a return and a recalibration in their sound and identity. The lineup changes, long gaps, and that early demo/first album period gave them a foundation, but Cesta k Ruinám (The Road to Ruins) appears to have led them to the centre of their gravity.
Now operating as a four-piece with Andrej (guitar, vocals), Mattto (guitar), Pady (bass), and Ďuri (drums), Rana lean into a dense hybrid of black metal, emo punk, neocrust, and post-metal textures. Recorded at the tail end of 2024 and finalised in March 2026, the EP feels less like a spontaneous outburst, but more like something carefully unearthed. Across its four tracks, which are Ego, Spád (Fall), Únik (Escape), and Sen (Dream), there‘s a certain kind of tension that teeters between chaos and control. The production retains enough grit to feel immediate, but there‘s also a clarity that allows each layer to breathe, particularly in the interplay between the dual guitars.
Ego opens the set and establishes the tone with a jagged urgency, fusing tremolo-picked aggression with emotionally charged vocal delivery that borders on desperation without losing focus. Spád pushes further into neocrust territory, its pacing shifting between relentless propulsion and slower, weightier passages that hint at post-metal expansiveness. On Únik, the band explores atmosphere more openly, with melancholic melodies drifting over restrained percussion before collapsing into a cathartic surge. The closing track Sen feels almost reflective by comparison, weaving together the EP‘s contrasting elements into something that lingers rather than explodes, suggesting a band which is increasingly comfortable with restraint as a tool.
And Flork’s prognosis? Refreshing and exhilarating. Cesta k Ruinám doesn‘t attempt to reinvent the genres it draws from, but instead recombines them with sincerity and intent. Rana sound like a band that has taken the long way around—through lineup changes, pauses, and quiet evolution—and emerged sharper for it. One could also that Rana‘s most fully realised work may still be ahead of them.
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